Vendetta
by KristinaW
Summary: Rey doesn't know why their paths crossed that night, or what it was that brought them together. All she knows is that she wants to know him, and for him to know her. - OR - Inspired by the heroic last acts of villain-turned-Empire rebel, Vader, a shadowy freedom fighter plots to overthrow the tyranny of the First Order with the help of a young woman. A V For Vendetta reylo AU.


**Author's Note:** I posted a prompt on Tumblr asking if there were any **V For Vendetta** reylo AUs, then decided to try my own hand at it. I'm testing the waters with this prologue. :) I combined elements from the graphic novel and the movie, but will venture into new territory down the road to really bring to light the parts of the Reylo dynamic we all love.

Basically, if you love V as much as I do, please read and let me know what you think! If there's enough interest, I'll continue it.

Will earn its M rating in a myriad of ways. First Order is Parliament; Chandrila is London.

* * *

 **Vendetta**

 **・・・・・・** **・・・** **・・・・・・**

 **Chapter One: Prologue**

* * *

The radio was prattling on as it did every night, broadcasting the Parliament's updates – or rather, mandates – to its dutiful – or rather, indoctrinated – city.

Rey hardly heard a thing, busy as she was. The new quarantine zones; the forthcoming uplift of the meat rationing that everyone knew wouldn't actually happen; the raid, incarceration and subsequent deletion of its so-called terrorists. Eight of the twenty, women. Probably mothers, daughters, girls like her.

Rey wouldn't be a girl that night. Or any night, thereafter. Perhaps on the outside, but surely not the inside.

Her makeup was fresh-faced and light-handed – partly in consequence to rationing, partly for the role. Pink-lipped and rosy-cheeked. While she preferred to wear her hair in a series of loops by day, by night, she let it loose. Unassuming. Brown like a fawn's new coat, or what she imagined such a thing would look like. The picture of innocence.

"It is the duty of every man in this country to seize the initiative and make Chandrila great again."

Rey switched off the radio with a snap. That was enough of that. She'd had enough hearing the contrived words of the face of Chandrila. She'd hear them again in the morning, and every hour after that.

The curfew was in effect, so Rey took the fire escape down the side of her decrepit apartment building. Each creak of every rusted rung made her second guess not simply waltzing out the lobby. Below in the gutters of Chandrila, the night would have made no difference to the shadows haunting there. The clacking of her heels on the alley's cobblestone, ghostly. But Rey would find what she was looking for in those trenches.

A man leaned against the brick of her apartment. He wore a trench coat, its threadbare sleeves barely hidden inside of his pockets and the glow of his cigarette the only light. The streetlamps had just gone out – no need for them with curfew – so his face was as much shadow as it was man.

Rey parted her own long coat just enough to reveal the dress beneath. More lingerie than dress and pink, to drive the idea home.

"Mister?"

By one word, the man's interest immediately piqued.

"I've not done this before, but was wondering…" Rey sidled in close so the last remnants of her nearly-gone perfume might reach his nose. "Would you like a night with me? For money, that is."

"You are new to this, aren't you?"

"You would be my first customer. But I assure you, I know what I'm doing. I'm sixteen." The lie soured on Rey's tongue, but hey. It would get her bought.

"No. You don't know what you're doing."

The man stepped away from the brick wall. Two others circled the corner, entering the alleyway and surrounding Rey; blocking out what little light came from the stars above.

"Because if you did," the man growled, a sickening smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. He pulled a badge from his pocket and flashed it in front of Rey's face. "You wouldn't have propositioned a Trooper on stake-out. And you would know that prostitution is a Class-H offence, which means –"

"We get to decide what to do with you," his colleague quipped.

"You're with the First Order," Rey hissed, and her back replaced the man's against the wall. "Please, i-it's my first offense. Please, don't kill me."

"Spare the rod, spoil the child." The men shared a lascivious laugh. "We won't. Yet."

"Not until we're finished with you," the first man added with a nod, and then, the hands of his colleagues were upon her. They held her to the wall while the first unzipped his fly.

"The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him."

The men startled, turning on their heels toward the end of the alleyway. A shadow among shadows entered, drenched in black from head to foot, as though he were meant to be part of the night and never to see the light of day.

"And fortune, on his damned quarrel, smiling, showed like a rebel's whore."

"We're with the First Order." The first man didn't bother with his badge this time. "Keep walking."

"Disdaining fortune with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution."

It wasn't a dagger that caught the men's eyes, but a crossguarded saber of a much older time. As unworldly as it was, so was the shade of a man as he attacked. It was a dance more than it was a fight, the heel of his saber sending the first to his knees. The second was more quick-witted, pulling a gun from his trousers, though the shade sent it flying before the barrel could be spun. Slicing the man's trousers and revealing he had not much to work with for his original, deplorable plans, the shade sent the second to land among the first. And the third – well, he surely did try. A punch to the mask rendered a crunch to his knuckles, for there were no means of breaking through the black snout-like steel or silver-rimmed visor. The poor git was flung like a ragdoll into the very brick wall Rey had pressed against, landing in a heap.

Alas, the pantsless one was crawling for it, and that would not do.

"We are oft to blame in this," the victor said, his breathing steady as he stood over the pitiful thug. "'Tis too much proved that with devotion's visage and pious action we do sugar o'er the devil himself."

"What does that mean?" the question asked through drivel and snot.

"Spare the rod," the victor answered, the heel of his saber connecting solidly to the thug's temple.

Rey cowered, though she hated to and was not one to do so. She was a fighter, and her knees would have collided with the groins of the First Order men as well as the masked man's saber hilt, if that was all that could or would be done. But when she saw no excess of blood spilt, the chests of the men still rising, Rey stood, unintimidated by her savior.

"I can assure you I mean you no harm," he said, holstering his weapon. He stepped over the pile of bodies, the tails of his tunic fluttering over them like the reaper's shadow.

"Who are you?"

"Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask."

"Well I can see that."

"Of course you can. I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is. But, for now, let us simply say who and what I am is the villain."

He bowed his masked face and suddenly, it didn't look as threatening, genuflected before her.

"And you would be?"

Rey's lips stammered at his question, but ultimately, her decision was made. Though she'd later often wonder, Rey knew she never would know why their paths crossed that night. Or what it was that brought them together. But in that very moment, Rey knew she could trust him… that she wanted to know him, and for him to know her.

"I'm Rey."


End file.
